Knox glanced at his phone.
She’d been gone for three hours. Where the hell did she go roller skating? And who was this elusive friend she hinted about? These questions had menaced him for the past hours. A new friend, she’d said. What the hell did that mean?
He had no right to be jealous over her, he knew that. But knowledge did shit to dampen the unsettling sensation in his body. He couldn’t sit or stay still. Focusing became hard again. See, he’d made out with her a couple of times and she’d already gotten under his skin. When things were good in between them, she inspired him. When she pissed him off, he was too busy thinking about her to write.
His whole life, he’d never had this kind of thing happen. His screenwriting had never depended on someone else—sure, external situations had an impact, but not so obvious like this. Especially because she had no idea what she caused. She had no idea that by meeting a friend, not only did she make him think about her—maybe she had an idea about that bit—but she also dried his creative well.
He rubbed his eyes, shaking his head.
Where did his summer plans go so wrong?
He’d looked forward for some alone time, with Madison out of town. Even though she lived in an apartment with roommates, she still popped in and out of his house. So to have the home to himself to work on his looming deadline was a plus. Then that annoying dog got lost, and his life had turned upside down. He sighed. Wasn’t fair to blame it all on Alyssa, of course.
But how would he deal with this… situation from now on? He’d have to pretend she didn’t affect him at all. Impossible. He’d visited sets enough times to know good acting didn’t shine through if the performer didn’t believe it.
Fuck.
He heard the door, and by the time he left his office and went downstairs, she was petting Mr. Fluffers on the floor.
“Hi,” he said, tightly.
“Hi,” she told him. Mr. Fluffers swiped his tongue on her cheek, the lucky bastard, and she caressed the area behind his ear and talked to him, “You missed me, didn’t you? Didn’t you?”
You have no idea. He jammed a hand in his pocket to keep from reaching out to her and touching her. Kissing her. Lifting her up from the floor and into his arms. His room. His bed.
His gaze cascaded over her, when she continued her baby talk with the dog. Several strands strayed from her pony tail, which had been tight when she left. Sweat glistened her skin, and a nice red shade filled her cheeks and neck.
A sexual awareness coursed through him. She’d gone roller skating, so of course she looked like she had a workout. Though could she have done something else… with the new friend? Frustration knotted in his throat. Say something, you idiot. Don’t just gawk at her. “I was thinking… I never asked what kind of food you like. I could order takeout for dinner,” he said, proud at how casual he sounded.
She focused her attention on him, a glint of surprise in her eyes. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I just came back to change really quick, then I’m going out for dinner.”
“Dinner? Shouldn’t you keep an eye on the dog?”
She chuckled. “I promise I’m giving this one all the attention he deserves. It’s not like I’m leaving for a few days. It’s just a date.”
A date!
Every fiber of his being became fully alert, and the frustration from earlier burned in his chest. “A date?” he repeated.
“Yeah,” she said, surging to her feet. “I have to hop in the shower. Excuse me,” she said, and spun on her heels and dashed to the bedroom she’d been occupying, as a guest in his house. His territory.
The dog followed her. Of course he would. What living and breathing male wouldn’t? Damn it.
He paced the floor. Could she be making this date up? Yes. But, did it give him a sense of relief? Hell no. Because what upset him most was being so bent out of shape by the possibility of her going out with someone other than him.
He couldn’t give her what she wanted, though. Or could he?
If no one ever found out…
If they both knew exactly what the deal was…
No. Don’t let some stupid male ego shit change your resolve. Be strong. He strode to his wet bar, and grabbed an aged scotch and a tumbler. He didn’t drink hard liquor that often, but today he’d need it to keep doing the right thing.
In fact, if anything he should thank her for going on this date. That meant she was pissed he rejected her, and moved on. She’d followed his lead. That was what he’d wanted, correct? He poured a generous amount of the amber liquid into the glass. When he lifted, he’d done so abruptly that the scotch nearly sloshed out of the confines from its square glass.
He took a good drink, the alcohol streaming down his throat, leaving a path of searing aftertaste. Every part of him became even more aware, more alive. Maybe he’d need a whole lot more to numb his sensation of loss. If he let her go on that date, if he didn’t stop her, he’d lose her.
In a twisted way, this was a test. He’d been around the block. This was his last chance to claim her as his—and maybe he was already too late…
